Forgotten in Death(32)

“We could’ve lost the house where I’m standing right here!” Angelina rapped a fist on the doorjamb. “But he doesn’t stop. Lost most of our middle boy’s college fund, so we had to take out a loan, but he doesn’t stop.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Delgato, but the separation wasn’t listed on his data, and this address was.”

“I see he hasn’t changed it. You have to pay a fee to change it, so why should I pay more to cover his stupid ass? Man’s got a good job, he’s got a skill, but he can’t keep away from the horses. I’m done.”

“Could you tell us where to find him?”

“Took himself off to some flop.” She rattled off an address, included a room number, which told Eve she kept such things in the memory banks.

“And if you don’t find him there, try the track or Delancy’s Bar and Grill, they have offtrack betting and he can’t stay the hell away. And you tell him he can stop tagging me up and making his lousy promises and whining about coming home. I’m done.”

“Could I ask if you know if he ever sharked out a loan?”

She snorted. But the glitter in her eyes didn’t come from anger. It was grief.

“He’ll claim he hasn’t, but I know damn well. More than once he’s come home with a black eye or worse, and claimed he got hurt on the job. More than once I’ve heard him whispering and pleading on his ’link when he thinks I don’t hear. I said you need help, Carmine, and he’d say he was going to meetings. Bull hockey!”

Eve took out her PPC, brought up Tovinski’s photo. “Do you recognize this man?”

Angelina frowned at it. “Maybe. Not sure. But I recognize the type. The type who gave Carmine the black eyes and bruised ribs, and one time broke his fingers so he couldn’t work for a week. Trash. I recognize trash, and I’m not having it in my house anymore. I’m done.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

“You tell him I’m done!” she called out as Eve and Roarke walked away. Then slammed the door.

“I have a feeling Carmine Delgato just popped up several rungs on your list.”

“Damn right.”

Roarke wrapped an arm around Eve’s waist as they walked back to the car. “She still loves him.”

“Come on.”

“She’s too angry not to still love him. I saw a broken heart in her eyes.”

Eve sighed. “Yeah. So did I.”





7





New York, Eve knew, merged different worlds into one big, crowded, diverse city. Traveling a few handfuls of blocks, Carmine Delgato had moved from a tidy neighborhood of upper-middle-class townhomes, apartments, and the shops and restaurants they patronized, to a dingy corner of flops, dives, low-rent street LCs, and the downtrodden who patronized them.

He’d chosen a squat post-Urban box squeezed between the dirt-fogged display window of a pawn shop boasting a sign reading $ 4 U, and a dive bar called The Hard Stuff.

The four-story box had plenty of graffiti and no security.

When she walked inside—no need to buzz in or use her master—it surprised her to find the closet-size lobby looked and smelled clean. The tiny counter held a sign:

RING BELL FOR ASSISTANCE.

WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK!



Eve eyed the single elevator, swiveled to the stairs.

No litter or graffiti in the stairwell, and again that sense of clean.

“Somebody scrubbed the place down recently.”

“It’s more than that,” Roarke commented. “I expect it’s next to impossible to keep the exterior tag free, but someone maintains the inside. No soundproofing to speak of, as we can plainly hear.”

“Yeah, why is there always a baby screaming like somebody’s jabbing a needle in its eye?”

“I couldn’t say, though someone else appears to be enjoying themselves.”

Over the baby’s wailing and someone’s choice of trash rock, the sound of sex thumps and grunts came through, enthusiastically.

“A long way from flowers on the stoop.”

She pushed through the door on the second floor, spotted the skinny, pint-size Black guy hammering a fist on 2B.

“I know you’re in there, Carmine. Open the effing door.”

He paused when he spotted Eve and Roarke, and dropped his fist. “Help you?”

Eve held up her badge. “Are you a friend of Carmine Delgato’s?”

“Not exactly. I’m the building super. My partners and me own the place. Is there a problem?”

“I need to speak with Mr. Delgato.”

“Yeah, well, get in line.” His shoulders hunched the second the words spurted out of his mouth. “Sorry, don’t mean to be a jerk. He hasn’t paid the rent in four effing weeks, and I gave the GD SOB plenty of chances on it. I told him how this was his last one, and he’s dodging me.”

“Are you sure he’s in there?”

“Pretty doggone sure. I had to turn one of the rooms and I saw him coming in when I looked out the window. We keep the rooms clean, see, between the thirty minutes and hourly rents. Wasn’t more than a half hour ago. Look, I gotta kick him out. I’m sorry to do it, but it’s been four effing weeks.”